


5 Bloody Minutes

by Max Watson (Max_Motou)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Character Death, Death like wow, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:21:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5024596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Max_Motou/pseuds/Max%20Watson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An arrangement of Zombie!Lock one-shots. Main pairings, JohnLock and Mystade. (Unrequited and the like) Character Death is unavoidable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Bloody Minutes

It was a normal day; John had gone out to the Texaco down the street. Standing by the magazine stand, a woman rounded the corner.

"Hello." Greeted John, giving her a little smile. She shuffled towards him, the sound of dragging skin following her. John glanced back up at her, curious as to where the sound was coming from.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking at her more closely. Her blonde hair was matted and knotted, an open wound on her neck. Her once purple blouse was in tatters, her black pencil shirt in ribbons.

"Ma'am?" John asked. Suddenly, the woman lunged for John's outstretched arm. John reeled back, letting go of "Medical Today". The woman's jaws clamped down hard onto the laminated paper, shredding it. The woman stalked over towards John.

John, in a panic, chanced a glance at the door near the check-out counter, looking all clear; John tried to make a break for it.

The woman screeched, lunging at John again. Caught off guard for a second time, John flung himself backwards, bouncing off the glass freezer doors. The woman flew over John, shattering the glass, sliding into the back storage.

John scrambled to his feet, reaching for the gun he had tucked in his waistband. When his hand only found the fabric of his black and white jumper, John eagerly scanned the floor. The pistol lied unperturbed on the checked tile floor in front of the shattered glass.

John tip toed his way to the fire arm, avoiding as much glass as he could. A loud shriek emanated from behind him; John whipped his head around in time to see a man crouch down, preparing to spring. John dove for the gun, glass digging into his flesh, cutting his face. He rolled and fired at the man, hitting him square between the eyes. Something crashed, John whipped around, and fired, hitting the woman in the head, and her body slumped in the freezer case.

John, panting, looked at the two bodies’ from afar. If he didn't know any better, he'd call them zombies.

"Sherlock!" John breathed. He dug in his pocket for his phone and dialed Sherlock's number.

1...2...3 rings and voicemail.

"Sherlock. If you get this, stay inside. Get Ms. Hudson and lock all entry ways into the apartment. I'm around the corner at the Texaco.  I'm on my way. Shouldn't take no more than 5 minutes. If you've never done anything I've asked you to do, please, just do this one thing. Stay safe till I get back. I." John's phone went dead. Cursing, he glanced at the corpses, John left.

As John walked, it started to sprinkle. John sighed, rubbing his free hand up his arm. The little side street had been devoid of life, the only sound was The pitter patter of the rain drops, and the wind.

John poked his head around the corner leading to Baker Street. He saw a lot more of the walking dead-like people. Ducking in and out of alleys next to the shops, John quietly made his way to the apartment.

As John popped out of the alley next to Speedies bakery, John saw a familiar Bob of brunette curls loitering around 221b's front door.

"Oh Sherlock." John muttered, hope and life draining from his face. The figure's head turned as it began to walk diagonally across the street. John caught a glimpse at the man's face, and relief flooded him. It was the guy from 3 apartments down! John leaned on the brick, and sighed with relief.

A moan came from John's right. John raised his gun with lighting fast reflexes that he had acquired from the army.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, running up to him. John Sat the gun on the cracked concrete.

"Don't... Goo... Into the...Apart-ment..." Sherlock sputtered, blood trailing down the corner of his mouth.

"Oh God. Sherlock. Sherlock don't talk and for the love of all things don't... Don't die." John said, glancing around.

"Ki-ill me. John. . . it's the...only way."

"No. No its not." John countered, blood pooling around John's hands, coagulating.

"What the?"

"It... She... Bit me. John. I'm- I'm going to ... Change." Sherlock said, coughing.

"No. No you're Not."

"Kill... Me. John..." Sherlock pleaded, as his legs started to convulse.

"Do it now John!" Sherlock shouted. "Or I'll end up killing you." Sherlock's whole body seized and convulsed. Sherlock tried to keep the fear from his eyes, but there was no way to keep the tears from John's.

Nodding, John choked back all hesitancy, he leaned forward, Sherlock's face being kept as still as John could hold him, and placed a chaste kiss on Sherlock's lips. John pulled back and Sherlock's body became very still. John turned to look for the gun he had sat down when Sherlock's corpse sprung back to life. Had John not been straddling his torso, Sherlock would've sprung to his feet and been on John before he knew what had hit him.

John blindly searched for the gun with one hand while also trying to hold down his dead best friend's reanimated corpse.

Ex-Sherlock bucked and knocked John's center of gravity off, flinging him to the left. John hand gripped the metal of the gun barrel when Ex-Sherlock gripped John's free arm. John rotated the gun with his fingers when a pain greater than being shot, flew up his arm.

John glanced down, finger on the trigger and screamed. He ripped his arm off the ground and shot into Ex-Sherlock's head.

John huffed as the pain spread from his arm to his heart to his head.

"God." John muttered, dragging himself over to his ex-best friend's body. He leaned up against Ms. Hudson's green dumpsters, Sherlock's head in his lap. John kissed Sherlock's forehead, avoiding the blood trail.

"I'm so. So sorry." John muttered against the crimson stained, porcelain skin.

"I'm on my way. Sherlock. Just, wait a minute. Ok?" John asked, Sherlock's scent wafted into John's nose, a tear ran down his cheek and landed on the blood trail on Sherlock's skin, diluting the fresh crimson into a dull pink.

John leaned his head against the forest green bins; he could feel himself begin to change. He knew that he would attack any and every one if he didn't do this now. The sky open up silently, buckets of rain pouring down on the damned. The water washed the blood from Sherlock's corpse and soaked John.

Closing his eyes, he sent one message, a prayer if you will, to his Sherlock, one last thing.

"I love you."

                                   Bang!  
   



End file.
